Hi kids. This is MSG, Belle’s (and subsequently Rose’s) suitemate.
I think the last time I was committed to a blog was in 8th grade; it was an outlet for my hormonally driven emo angst about things that really didn’t apply to my life. As I finished high school, I looked back on my sad, sorrowful words on my not-really-that-sad-or-sorrowful life and felt unadulterated embarrassment. From then on, blogs are now, to me, just horrible reminders of how cool I thought I used to be, and how utterly ridiculous I actually was. I ended one of my blogs with “H3lla to th3 maxz0rs like woah.” I mean… what the fuck does that even mean??
Well, shit. Here I am blogging again. Why?? Why the hell am I blogging again? I’ll tell you why.
You see, I moved to college a little over 4 months ago. I love college; I have an awesome room, my classes are great, I get along with my roommate, as well as my suitemate
— note: not plural. Fortunately I got paired with someone not as batshitfuckingcrazy inconsiderate as Rose; unfortunately, I still have to live with her. (My infinite condolences goes out to Belle, who actually shares a room with her. I am so, so sorry.) While I don’t come into contact with her as much as Belle does, I still do. In the House of Crazy, we are all victims of her [hate] crimes.
I try to give people chances, I’m a nice person (that may or may not have been a lie,) and I am really forgiving. However, her behavior is just unacceptable. But, in this case, my forgiveness will extend to keeping my mouth shut and exploding in a blog later on
— I’ve affectionately deemed this as my passive-aggressive aggression.
So, if here I am writing this blog about my
batshitfuckingcrazy highly inconsiderate suitemate, Rose, why don’t I start (or I guess end, at this point) with some offenses I’ve personally been victim to? Well, i’m glad I asked.
Currently, right now, as I type (redundancy for emphasis), Rose is watching the first episode of the 9th season of American idol. As if that wasn’t a horrible form of the unnatural itself, I can clearly hear the god fucking awful renditions of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” coming from the living room. This is means the sound is penetrating two walls of my suite. Note, this is on my TV I brought from home. I’m okay with people watching it, but at that volume, I feel like there’s some sort of aspect of property abuse — as in, she might blow out the speakers.
Yet a problem occurs if Rose watches the TV in her room: the obnoxious sound only penetrates one wall. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve had to ask her to turn down her TV because it either a) woke me up from a nap, b) prevented me from taking a nap, or c) made me want to sit in a corner and tear gas station receipts into tiny, tiny little pieces… I’m not sure how much money i’d have. It’s over 50 cents, though.
Oh. And I’ve seen her naked about 5 times now, counting today. That’s 5 more times than I ever really wanted. I’m unsure as to why she feels the necessity to run around our suite naked before she hops in the shower, but boy do I wish she didn’t. It pains me to see her shitty, shitty tramp stamp… and then remember that this woman gave birth to a child. By pains, I mean disturbs me to no end.
So there, there is my first legitimate blog entry on a legitimate blog site since 8th grade. Just when I thought nothing could occur in my life that would warrant me to blog again, I move in with Rose.
Here’s to you, Rose. Turn the fucking TV down.
pee ess/ I’m almost certain she has no idea what MSG is.